


Change my Name

by InsaneSociopath



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Chris/Phil, Gen, Old Married Couple, Starfleet Academy, lol, why do you expect anything different from me?, yet more Chris & Jim fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneSociopath/pseuds/InsaneSociopath
Summary: Jim won't join the Academy as a Kirk.He refuses to deal with people accusing him of nepotism.Problem is, Pike won't let him use his name either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Largely the fault of the A Captain and A Doctor crew. 
> 
> Is it like most of my other fics? Of course it is lol.  
> I sincerely hope that's a good thing :)

“Outside. All of you. Now!”

Chris doesn’t quite shout the last word, but he puts enough emphasis on it that every one of the bar’s patrons beginning shuffling quite rapidly towards the door behind him.

Ignoring the various grumblings of the Cadets and civvies sliding passed him, he takes a couple more steps into the room and pauses, tilting his head to peer down at the unfortunate young man sprawled on the low table before him.

“Are you okay son?” he asks with some concern; blood is spotted all down his t-shirt, and a not inconsiderable amount is smeared on his face. One eye looks like it might swell shut soon, and the beginnings of one hell of a shiner decorates his right cheek. 

The young man grins up at him through bloody teeth.

“You can whistle really loud, you know that?”

Chris smiles a little to himself.

“I’ve been told, yes.”

“Huh. Fancy teaching me? I bet it would get me so many hot dates.”

“How about we start with getting you sat upright and cleaned up first?”

“No I think I’m good here thanks,” comes the cocky reply, complete with lazy smirk.

Chris sighs, wondering how on Earth he always manages to get himself into these situations.

“Well if you’re sure kid,” he rumbles, looking up and wincing at the amount of smashed furniture and glass on the floor. Damage which undoubtedly is going to end up being payed off on his own chit. 

“Uhuh, totally; I am the master of sorting my own shit out.”

The response is accompanied by a groan as the battered guy rolls off the table and lands hard on all fours, his left-hand crunching into the sodden remains of a shattered beer bottle.

“The more I watch, the more I’m convinced you’re not the master of anything kid,” Chris snorts dryly.

The kid pauses and drunkenly holds one finger up to him, smirk still fixed to his face. He wobbles, clearly unstable without both hands down on the floor.

“I will have you know I am a master of being a fully grown competent adult. One who is leaving for the bathroom now.”

He wobbles again.

Chris raises an eyebrow as he tips over sideways and lands in a sprawled heap.

“Are you sure you graduated kindergarten?” Chris snarks, finally giving in and moving to help the lad get to his feet.

* * *

Having dragged the bleeding youngster into the grimy bathrooms and left him leaning over the sink with the taps running, Chris takes a moment to stop in the now empty bar and breathe deeply.

 _[tell me not to recruit the problem child]_ he taps out on a quick group comm.

 _[Do not.]_ comes the first reply.  
_[Another one love?]_ the second.  
_[Step away from the problem child Christopher]_  
_[Captain, It would not be logical to enlist an individual into Starfleet who will cause multiple complications, both for the organisation, and for yourself.]_

He blinks.

And curses himself

_[I’m going to go recruit the problem child.]_

_[This is why we normally don’t let you go anywhere alone honey.]_

Chris chuckles to himself, flicking the Padd off with his thumb and stuffing the device back into his inner jacket pocket. Twisting the top buckle between his fingers, he eyes the main door resignedly, before squaring his shoulders and mentally preparing himself to give the bunch of cadets still waiting outside one hell of a tongue lashing.

* * *

_“Kirk!?”_ Chris near-spits in surprise. “He’s James T. Kirk!?”

“Sure man,” the guy behind the bar shrugs. “Comes in here a lot. Usually sits in the corner on his own frowning at the world. Occasionally tries to talk to anyone who comes in here from outta town, chat them up a bit. But he’s a bit of a nerd really, doesn’t try all that hard at it. Spends most of his time bugging the shipyard workers about progress on that new baby you’re putting together out there to be honest.”

“So not much of a trouble causer normally?” Chris asks hopefully, handing over his credit chit and receiving a cool glass of iced tea with a splash of rum in it in return.

“Well I wouldn’t say he’s an angel; he’s an all-out menace when he’s had a few too many,” the barman nods, indicating the mess still littering the floor behind Chris. “But normally he knows his limits and sticks to them.”

“But he’s interested in the work going on in the ship yard?”

“That and every other topic in the galaxy. I’ve heard him gabbling on about everything from star light wavelengths to the correct diplomatic greetings for Twi’lucko ambassadors. He’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen about anything given half a chance.”

“Huh,” Chris says eloquently, giving into impulse and fishing his Padd back out. He swipes quickly to the United Earth citizen database, and types Kirk’s full name in with a few precise taps. 

“Yeah, if you could get him outta this dead-end town and doing something with his life, you’d be doing Kirk a huge favour, not that he’ll admit it. Town sheriff would probable declare you a deity too if you got the kid out of her hair.”

Chris glances away from the Padd and frowns at the barman.

“So he gets on the wrong side of the local law enforcement often?”

“Every now and again,” the guy shrugs back, throwing a rag down on the synth-wood top and starting to mop up the spills spread out across it. “Never anything serious, just petty stuff. Aside from that time he broke into the micromart and made off with loads of tinned food anyway. He was only 16 though, and thin as a rake. Everyone knew something bad was going on with him so he got off light.”

Looking back down at his Padd and the profile now loaded on the screen, he can see immediately what the barman means.

Kirk has very little formal education listed beyond some incomplete Earth Standard Schooling certificates, but his aptitude scores are some of the highest he’s ever laid eyes on. Some of them, he suspects, might even be higher than Spock’s.

On the other hand, his criminal record is littered with small misdemeanours; everything from shoplifting to public fighting. And there’s a suspiciously large gap in his medical records and registered dwelling history. 

“Oh he’s gonna be a handful,” Chris mutters to himself, wondering yet again if he should follows his friends’ advice and walk away.

The barman just smiles lopsided at him, and drops another couple of ice cubes in his glass before sauntering off into the backroom.

* * *

“You know, I couldn’t believe it when the bartender told me who you are.”

“And who am I, Captain Pike?”

“An intelligent young man who could be making something of himself.”

Kirk looks at him unimpressed, every line in his body radiating disinterest. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he states blankly. He turns to look towards the bar and waves his empty glass expectantly. “Can I get another,” he calls, pulling a face when he’s ignored. 

“For my master’s dissertation, I was assigned the USS Kelvin. Something I admired about your dad, he didn’t believe in no-win situations.”

“Good job I’m not my dad then,” the kid grumbles. “Cause belief sure didn’t save his ass.”

Chris leans forward and drops his empty glass down next to Kirk’s, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Sometimes son, winning isn’t about your own survival.”

“Trust me when I say that I am painfully aware of that fact,” Kirk snorts, clearly regretting it and grimacing and adjusting his nose napkins the second after.

“Well that instinct you have? To leap without looking and always put others first?” Chris continues, biting back the urge to mention George Kirk again. “In my opinion that’s something Starfleet lost.”

Kirk sighs, clearly losing his patience, and lets his head drop back. He wipes his hand once over his eyes, and Chris watches as several loose bits of dry blood flake away from his forehead.

“Why are you talking to me man?” the lad groans. “I’m really not worth the effort.”

And oh great, Chris thinks to himself, minimal formal education, a rap sheet _and_ self-esteem issues. Goddammit, there’s no way he’s leaving this kid to suffer alone now. His conscience won’t let him. 

“I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor,” he snarks back, smiling so the kid realises his teasing. Hopefully realises anyway. “Your aptitude tests are off the charts. So what is it? Why are you still here pretending you enjoy being the only genius repeat offender in the Midwest?”

“Maybe I love it.” Kirk bites back. But there’s no conviction, no belief behind the words.

“Enlist in Starfleet,” Chris states. “Prove to yourself that you’re meant for something special.”

“Enli-” the kid laughs, cutting himself off mid-word he’s that disbelieving. “You must be way down on your recruiting quota.”

“Already over actually,” Chris grins. “But I got room for one more as good as you.”

Kirk raises both eyebrows with bemusement, and pulls one of the napkins out of his nose with a shudder.

“Trust me old man, I’m not worth the trouble. My name alone will cause you a nightmare in the ‘Fleet.”

“We can fix that,” Chris shrugs. “If its nepotism you’re worried about. Just think about it. An officer in four years, a Starship Captain in eight. Starfleet is a humanitarian peace keeping armada, and you could be part of that.”

Kirk sits up suddenly, all traces of lingering drunkenness suddenly disappearing.

“You want me to join you, then I got one condition. I want your name.”

Chris makes a face, instantly confused.

“It’s Chris Pike?” he repeats from earlier. “Captain Christopher Pike…”

“No you idiot,” Kirk groans, his lips twitching in amusement. “I don’t want to be a Kirk at the Academy. I’ll have every wonnabe clinging to my coattails, and all of the sceptics railing on about my taking advantage of my Dad’s legacy nonstop. Change my records to James Pike.”

Chris feels his face go completely blank for a second and then he bursts out laughing.

* * *

Chris looks across at the bundle of misery curled up in the passenger seat of his aircar again, and silently asks himself what the hell he’s doing once more.

“First things first,” he breaks into the silence, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel as they bounce over a pot hole, “When we get back to the bunkhouse, you’re going to let McCoy give you a once over.”

“Who’s McCoy?” Kirk mutters sullenly, still sulking from Chris’ refusal to share his surname. He’s also clearly not enjoying the combined effects of his post-fight adrenaline-drop, and return to sobriety.

“Another victim of life that I picked up in Atlanta, Georgia. I convinced him to sign up to the Academy Med Track.”

“I don’t trust Doctors.”

“Well you better learn to ‘cause I’m married to one.”

Kirk scowls at him, and tightens his arms around his chest, his battered leather jacket creaking slightly.

“Oh so you will let others use your name, just not me.”

“Kid,” he sighs, “if I thought it would help, I would falsify your way into my family in an instant. But A) everyone knows I’m an only child so you can’t be a nephew or a half-brother or something. B) Everyone knows I don’t have kids-”

“You could just pretend you didn’t know I existed you know.” Kirk grumbles. “Better a surprise love child than the disappointing failure son of a hero.”

“I am very loudly and openly gay son,” Chris chuckles. “And you’re not a failure or a disappointment.”

“Tell that to my mom,” Kirk mutters, quietly enough that Chris obviously wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“Well anyway,” he continues after swallowing back the ball of empathy that swelled in his throat. “As I was saying, B) my lack of children is a well established fact. And C) The nepotism allegations would be _three times_ as bad if I let you have your way, because everyone would think I pulled my own family into my own profession for personal gain. And you’re the one who would get it in the neck for it.”

“I’m not joining as a Kirk,” the young man grunts again, turning to rest his head against the window. He peers up into the night sky, the stars vibrant and clear in the dark, cloudless sky. Chris watches him from the corner of his vision, keeping his own eyes firmly fixed on the road before them.

“I didn’t say you had to,” Chris smirks as the gates of the shipyard finally come into view. “I just said you couldn’t join as a Pike either.”

* * *

“I may have had a very stupid idea,” Chris smiles sheepishly, lying back on his bunk and holding the Padd up above his face.

“How stupid are we talking? Just a Risa III in 2231 kind of stupid, or Admiral Johansson’s lizards kind of stupid?”

“I recruited the problem child kinda stupid.”

Phil rolls his eyes on the other end of the video connection.

“I knew you would,” the doctor drawls fondly. “Who is he then, and do have to go to admissions _again,_ and sweet talk the admin team for you _again?”_

“Oh he’s only George Kirk’s son, no biggie,” Chris grins smugly. “And I will love you forever if you go to admissions and register him for me tomorrow morning.”

 _“You recruited George Kirk’s son!?”_ Phil chokes, his eyes going wide. “I thought his mother had expressly forbidden the ‘Fleet from having anything to with her and hers ever again?”

“He’s twenty-two, he can make his own life choices,” Chris mutters back, pushing his damn fringe out of his eyes again. “Besides, I promised him he could drop the Kirk-name and history anyway.”

“And how exactly do plan on doing that?” Phil sighs in exasperation. “He’s basically ‘Fleet royalty; he’ll get clocked in an instant.”

“With a dose of hair follicle treatment and gifting you a new nephew.”

“You’re making him a Boyce?” Phil asks, his left eyebrow raising.

“You’ve got so many nephews and nieces, no-one will notice an extra one. I’m sure Joey won’t mind pretending to have another kid.”

“He does already have nine I suppose,” Phil concedes. “But he looks nothing like my brother, or his wife.”

“Which is why I’m keeping him in my room over night once McCoy is finished patching him up, and then putting him in the shuttle cockpit away from the other Cadets on the flight back tomorrow morning. Then I can take him straight to Medical tomorrow before anyone sees him and you can work your magic.”

“I think it’s gonna need more than just a change of hair colour Christopher. And why does he need patching up by a doctor?”

“I told you, he’s a problem child; he got into a fight. Bruised knuckles and a cracked cheekbone and all that. But here listen; he’s allergic to Retnax V- it’s on his public medical records- so he wears perma-contacts instead. You take them out, give him a pair of glasses, and voila! No one will look at him twice, especially if he grows his hair out a little.”

“This is insane, and you’re insane.”

“But you love me so you’ll play along right? Come on honey. People are stupid; they won’t suspect a thing and I promised him. Besides, I already told McCoy he’s a Boyce, so it would be stupid to change it again now.”

“This is getting closer and closer to the Lizards level of stupid, but fine. You better fix me some fake records before 9am though, or I’m registering him as a Kirk despite your wishes.”

“This is why you’re my favourite.”

“I damn well better be your favourite after twelve years of marriage and all the shit I’ve put up with!”

Chris smiles, and blows a kiss at the screen, shuffling a little atop the scratchy standard issue blankets. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

“Yes, and you can introduce me to my new family member. Now get some sleep, love you sweetheart.”

“Love you too Phil, you worrywart,” he chuckles back. 

“Night!”

The vid shuts off with a faint click, and Chris stares at the plain whitewashed and steel wall opposite him sadly, pretending the sudden silence in the small room isn’t oppressive at all.

* * *

Kirk knocks on the door less than five minutes later, looking considerably less bruised but still bloody and grimy. Chris steers him towards his private shower room, throws a clean set of towels and sweats at him, and then rolls into his narrow bunk.

He’s almost asleep when he hears the young man creep back in and crawl into the nest of blankets he’d left out on the low couch on the opposite wall.

* * *

Phil is waiting in the hanger when Chris finally drags both McCoy and Kirk off the shuttle, long after the Cadets have disembarked. McCoy looks like he’s about three seconds away from throwing up on everyone’s shoes, and Kirk is peering round anxiously, moving slowly sideways until he’s mostly hidden behind Chris.

“One new ID chit,” Phil grins, hooking Chris in by one arm and subjecting him to an overly tight hug and a kiss on his brow. “Two letters of acceptance to the Academy for recruits McCoy and Boyce, and one antiemetic hypo for motion induced nausea. Now where’s this nephew of mine?”

“Nephew?” McCoy asks weakly, breathing shallowly but accepting the hypo with obvious gratitude.

“I’m Jimbo’s uncle Philip,” the older doctor grins, peering over Chris at Kirk with a dopey smile. “And now unfortunately, I’m taking you both to the Clinic and subjecting you both to Starfleet’s entrance physical examination. Nothing invasive, just a couple of scans and a handful of questions,” he adds when Kirk shrinks back with a flicker of fear running across his face. 

“And I’m going to find out how much paperwork has been dropped on my desk in my absence,” Chris groans, wriggling his way out of Phil’s clingy arms and stepping away. “I’ll see you boys later.”

He glances over his shoulder as he walks towards one of the hanger side doors, and smiles to himself as he catches Phil ruffling Kirk’s hair with one hand and dropping the other onto McCoy’s shoulder with an enthusiastic grin splitting his face.

God, he loves that man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to extend or not to extend....?
> 
> EDIT: okay I have written a slapdash story about the damn lizards, seeing as everyone keeps asking. Read it [HERE on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594540/chapters/28686724)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and tho shalt receive.... sometimes.
> 
> This being one of those times.

Chris, much to his own horror, has quite a substantial pile of Padds stacked on his desk when he manages to fight his way back into his tiny basement office in the recruitment building. 

“Goddammit I was only gone four days,” he mutters to himself as he shoves aside a large parcel that’s been left in his doorway with his foot. Dropping his travel bag and shuffling to the back of the small room, he unbuckles his jacket, throws it over the back of his desk chair, and then kicks the side of the air vent a couple of times until it rattles and cool air begins to flow out.

Chris breathes it in relief. 

Then his personal Padd beeps from inside his holdall.

Grumbling some more he clambers back round to the front of his desk and undoes the zip and shoves his hand inside. Yanking a spare pair of uniform pants and a clean pair of socks out too in the process, he eventually manages to extract the device and clutches it triumphantly above his head with a celebratory cheer.

It is at precisely this point that his boss appears in the doorway.

“Yay go you,” Commodore Z’aro deadpans, her antenna twitching in amusement. “How did the trip go Pike? I hear you picked up two more recruits?”

“Not bad, but not great either,” Chris smiles back, forcing down the embarrassment and locking his Padd again before he’s had chance to read the new message. “But yeah. Picked up this Doctor Wizz kid from Georgia. Recently divorced and having a rough time of it, but already fully qualified to practice and a trauma surgeon to boot. And the other lad is actually Phil’s nephew who happened to be in Iowa as we were passing through. Lurking around the Riverside shipyards staring at our new girl longingly.”

“You recruited a relative of your husband? I thought you knew better than to get involved in a conflict of interest case Pike.”

“It’s fine Commodore,” he waves away. “Boyce junior has no plans to go into the Medical Division, and the only class I’m teaching is Advanced Helm so there’ll be no issue with regs.”

“Well don’t come crying to me if Command start breathing down your neck for it,” she snorts good humouredly. “In the meantime, I’ve got an entrance exam resit appeal for you to deal with, and the coordination of the Autumn Risan circuit needs the prelims checking.”

“I’ll get on it boss,” Chris grumbles, rubbing sweat off his nose with the back of his hand before accepting _yet another_ Padd from her.

“And don’t stay here all night!” Z’aro calls as she turns and heads back towards the stairwell. “Your husband will kill you if you don’t go home on your first night back and you’re too good for my numbers to die!”

“Yeah yeah,” he mutters, scowling as the vent splutters and cuts out again behind him. “It’s so great to be back.”

* * *

At four thirty in the afternoon precisely, Chris decides that he’s completed enough slave labour to get away with running away.

He kicks the still unopened parcel further into the cramped space so that the door will actually shut, loops his jacket over his bag, throws the straps over one shoulder, and scrambles out of the building before anyone can stop him.

* * *

Their house is empty and still when he slides inside twenty minutes later.

Sunlight pools into the hallway from the skylights, and he smiles as he peers through the kitchen and into the garden through the patio doors. Their single small apple tree sways gently in the summer breeze, and the small robotic lawnmower trills happily to itself as it skims over the neat grass.

He smiles happily to himself too, and as there’s no one around to witness it, runs upstairs on all fours, eager to change out of his uniform and collapse on the sofa with a book.

* * *

“Chris honey? You home yet?”

“I’m in the front room!” he calls back to Phil, twiddling his bookmark between his fingers and contemplating rolling to his feet and standing.

“Oh good,” Phil says from much closer. Chris turns to look at the hallway door way and sees his husband leaning on the doorframe with a lazy smile and gorgeously rumpled hair.

“Please come here,” Chris asks lowly, tossing his book aside and opening his arms.

“Mmm I could be persuaded,” Phil grins back, loosening the shoulder buckle of his Medical overcoat. 

“I can be very suggestive,” Chris purrs with a raised eyebrow.

“Hmmm. I don’t mean to interrupt…” Jim Kirk suddenly laughs, his face now complete with glasses appearing over Phil’s shoulder. “But you strike me as the type who prefers privacy Captain.”

Chris stares.

“You brought the kid home with you?” he says slowly to his husband.

Phil shrugs, not looking in the slightest bit guilty.

“He’s my nephew, of course I did.”

“He’s not actually family you know love,” Chris grumps, dropping his arms and turning to climb to his feet. 

“I just toned his hair Boyce-black, introduced him via Comm to my brother, and gave him a rundown of the family history. His officially an unofficial Boyce now, and therefore very much family.”

Phil’s tone is bordering on stern and unapproving, and Chris realises that he should have known that he would take this whole ruse so seriously.

“What did Joey say about it all?” he asks, hoping Phil can hear the sheepish tone in his voice and takes it as the apology it’s intended to be.

“Eh, he was pretty chill, wasn’t he kid?” Phil answers, nudging his should back against Kirk.

Kirk shrugs, and pushed his glasses back up his nose with one hand.

“Says I have to go to New York and meet my “siblings” next weekend,” the young man mumbles, looking increasingly self-conscious. “and that I have to give him a couple of Holos to add to their collection on the mantle piece?”

“Sounds like the Boyce family,” Chris laughs, feeling the last of the tension dissipating. “You should have seen the amount of fuss they made when I married this menace fifteen years back! Well I guess we should start thinking about dinner,” he continues, stopping Phil from objecting to the fond name calling. “Anything you fancy son?”

“We’re eating out,” Phil replies before Jim can, his expression still one of amused irritation. “Because Jim owns nothing but the clothes on his back and the t-shirt you gave him last night and I’m not leaving family possessionless. We can eat in the mall, so get up and go put some respectable clothes on darling.”

It suddenly occurs to Chris that Kirk got in his car last night with precisely no luggage. Not even a toothbrush or a sonic deodorant pack. In fact, he’s still wearing Chris’ t-shirt too, with his own being stained with blood and beer and still currently in the side pocket if Chris’ holdall.

“Yeah, good idea,” Chris says absently, mentally listing off several more items that the kid will need to acquire. “You’re right, I should… go get redressed.”

“Yes dear, because as fetching as the boxers and holey tee is, I’d rather not have to bail you out of jail on charges of indecent exposure”

“I’m sure Kirk has seen worse,” he mutters in embarrassment, squeezing Phil’s hand as he walks passed him and heads back up to their room.

“No comment,” Kirk snorts.

* * *

Kirk is watching him again.

Across the table they’re sat at in the noodle bar.

Chris lifts some more chicken to his mouth with his chopsticks and raises one eyebrow.

Kirk raises one back.

And then fiddles with his new glasses again.

“Stop playing with them Jimbo,” Phil repeats patiently for the seventh time since they left the house. “You’ll end up breaking them.”

Kirk lets his hand drop back onto the table. Phil pats his arm absently and then nudges his food carton towards him.

Kirk looks at it confused, and then glances up at Phil’s amused face.

“He’s saying you can eat it kid,” Chris chuckles. “You’ve been staring at it hard enough to burn a hole in it ever since you finished your own.”

“Are you sure?” Kirk asks almost shyly.

“Have at it kiddo.”

Chris watches in fascination and mild horror as Kirk hesitates, and then snatches it up at warp speed and begins to practically inhale the remaining contents.

“Oh good Phil,” Chris remarks dryly, “we finally found a human trash can to feed all your leftovers to.”

Kirk scowls at him and Phil rolls his eyes with a huff.

* * *

“I look so weird.”

“You’ll get used to it Jimbo,” Phil reassures. “It has only been half a day or so.”

“But it is gonna keep growing this colour?”

He leans forward towards the mirror again and runs his hand back through his hair, leaving it stuck up at various odd angles.

“For another six months or so until your pheomelanin pigments naturally reassert themselves. At the minute you’ve only got eumelanin left, but when the pheomelanin starts to come back, we’ll have to treat your hair again.”

“So you, errr, stole his hair melanin?” Chris asks curiously, shifting the shopping basket he’s holding to his other arm. “I always wondered how follicle treatment works.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that because you have to alter the proteins which make the melanin too, but yes, I basically I stole all the red and brown melanin and topped up him up with synthesised black and brown.”

“You dyed my hair with science,” Jim smiles lopsidedly. 

“Technically all hair dye is science kiddo,” Phil smiles back. “Even if it’s just an old-fashioned bottle of bleach. Now come on, we still need to go find you some bedding for your dorm bunk and I’d like to actually get home before midnight.”

* * *

“Should we wake him up?” Chris whispers, peering at their other couch were Kirk has fallen asleep.

“Well I’m not walking him over to the halls of residence and finding his room at this time of night.”

“But are we gonna throw a blanket over him and leave him there, or prod him until he crawls up into our spare room?”

“He slept on a couch last night too yes? Didn’t complain?”

“Well yes, but it was the couch or the floor.”

“Hmmm maybe we shouldn’t be mean then,” Phil chuckles. “two nights in a row will probably kill his back.”

“He’s young and bendy still. I’m sure he’ll survive.”

“Please don’t describe my nephew as bendy when your half laid on me Christopher. Especially not with your hands creeping up my shirt like that.”

“So lets go upstairs,” he breathes into Phil’s neck with a smirk. “We best leave the boyo down here after all, or he’ll hear every noise I’m about to wring from you.”

Phil’s breathing has become delightfully shallow, and he’s tensed underneath him.

“Okay,” he groans strangled.

“Four days was a lot of time on my own with a whole bunch of Cadets sleeping in the next room you know.”

Phil is shuffling out from under him and bolting for the stairs before Chris can mutter another word.

* * *

Jim Kirk is absolutely not a morning person.

Chris finds it hilarious.

“No leave me alone,” the lad groans when Phil waves a cup of coffee under his nose. Kirk doesn’t even sit up, remaining mostly under the blanket Chris had tossed over him in a hurry last night, his face smushed into a red covered cushion and both eyes still shut. “Five more minutes.”

“You should disown him love,” Chris yawns, cradling his own mug. “A Boyce who isn’t addicted to coffee? Sacrilege.”

“Coffee tastes like the souls of bitter old curmudgeons,” Kirk moans. “Vile stuff; long live hot cocoa.”

“I take you in out of the goodness of my heart,” Phil monologues dramatically, free hand over his heart. “And this is how you repay me? Woe is me and my veins of pure caffeine.”

“Imma sleep more now,” Kirk slurs, pulling the blanket back up over his face. Within seconds, he’s snoring quietly again.

“Well now what?” Phil sighs. “I’ll feel mean if I force him to get up.”

“Don’t ask me sweetpea, you’re the one who brought him home with you!”

Chris runs off upstairs to shower before Phil can gather his wits and point out _he_ was the one who dragged the kid to San Fran in the first place.

* * *

“How may I serve you today my Queen and Overlord,” Chris chants ritualistically as he stops by the recruitment head office on the way to his own. 

“You have pleased me greatly in recent times,” Commodore Z’aro replies from behind her desk. “I have therefore seen fit to elevate you temporarily to chief minion.”

“Oh is Tomlinson off sick again?” Chris sighs. “I suppose I concede to be your primary bullying target until she’s back then. So what needs doing?”

“First up I need someone to run over to Command and ask Captain Bardaz to finish the damn liaison report in person. He’s ignoring my messages and I will end up sacrificing him to my gods if I go myself.”

“I shall go pick a victim to become an oblation then.”

Z’aro snorts.

“That phrasing suggests that Bardaz is a god Christopher. So I’d perhaps retract the statement.”

“I intended for you to be the deity in question in this instance, almighty boss lady.”

“Acceptable save,” she responds dryly. “But the need for clarification has still earned you a penalty.”

“So long as I have access to coffee, I will weather the storm my liege.”

“I decree that you shall journey to the far and distant administration centre this very morn and sort out the missing paperwork for the two wunderkinds you picked up in Iowa. I was going to make Frogyo do it, but they’re doing Tomlinson’s archiving instead.”

“I’ll get on it,” Chris sighs. “Anything else?”

“No I think that’s it. Oh! Could you find time to Comm maintenance and get them to send someone to fix the coffee machine?”

“The coffee machine is dead?” Chris gasps with genuine horror. “Hang on, I’ll Comm them now.”

“You humans have a serious addiction issue, you know that?”

* * *

Kirk is sat at the table next to the main desk when Chris saunters in a couple of hours later. He’s dressed in one of the new pairs of jeans that Phil paid for last night, but is also still wearing Chris’ old Loony Tunes t-shirt under his leather jacket.

“Good morning Cadet Boyce,” he greets amiably. “Looking a little more lively that you were at 7am this morning.”

“Sir, good morning to you too sir.” Kirk nods back, scrambling to his feet and attempting a salute. A badly executed salute, but a fair attempt nonetheless.

“You need to rotate your right fingers another 10 or so degrees upwards,” Chris corrects as kindly as he can. “And unclench your left hand.”

“Like this?” Kirk asks once he’s shifted as directed, a faint pink hue creeping up his neck.

“Mmm, straighten your shoulders a little more and unpoint your left foot outwards. There, you got it!”

“Do I seriously have to do this every time I see a superior officer? ‘Cause right now that’s literally everyone and it’ll get real old, real fast.”

“Not really no,” Chris chuckles. “If you’re greeted personally, enter an officer’s office, or are on parade, then yes. But otherwise… there’s a lot of elements of Starfleet that have a para-military air to them, but it really is first and foremost a scientific exploration and peacekeeping armada. So the ‘Fleet tries to encourage respect from it’s members, but its not hung up on etiquette the way the old Earth military organisations used to be.”

“Oh thank god,” Kirk breathes, relaxing.

“Your mom never tell you anything about the ‘Fleet son?” Chris asks cautiously, handing over the Padd he’s holding to the young Denebulon who scoots up to him looking expectant.

“Nope,” Kirk shrugs back. “Just that Starfleet is an evil husband killing bunch of judgemental assholes. And she hasn’t even said that in about 10 years so… I mean we get on okay I think? She moved off planet with Sam when he got married three years back. We talk over Comm occasionally, and she’ll send me flyers for various higher education establishments every now and again that I delete straight away. But- well we get on okay I guess.”

“No I get it,” Chris sighs back. “My mom died in a hovercar crash when I was thirteen and my dad just… shut down after that. I ended up going and living with my grandparents until I joined the Academy. We still talk too, my dad and I. But there’s a distance there now.”

“Well we just thoroughly killed the good mood didn’t we?” Kirk chuckles nervously.

“Phil tells me I do it regularly and with no remorse, so no surprise that I’m an expert at it.”

“He said you’re the queen of understatement too this morning when he was walking me to the dorms and helping carry my stuff.”

Kirk looks at him sideways with a smirk.

“And he also said you wouldn’t admit it, but you’re a huge dork with a chronic sweet tooth and a dog obsession.”

“I will freely admit that puppies are the purest thing in the Galaxy actually, whether they are the Earth variety or not. And ah look, my paperwork is coming back!”

Chris cheers sarcastically, and tosses the offending Padd onto the desk as soon as he’s handed it. 

“So I guess you’re here for course sign ups kid?” he asks, choosing to ignore his own responsibilities for the moment.

“They said I have to entrance exams for Command Track, and that I have to choose a bunch of these modules to do in my first year and some to do in my second. I’d rather just do them all in one go, but the registration dude I talked to just laughed in my face and told my “arrogant ass to sit down and accept that Command is a minimum four-year track”.

“You want to do Command in three years?”

“Why not?” Kirk grins. “I like a challenge.”

* * *

 _[I’m about to do another stupid]_ he sends to the group chat.

_[Captain, I would like you to consider that this is the third time this week you have stated words to that effect.]_   
_[Dare we ask?]_   
_[Christopher no]_

_[Christopher yes!]_ he sends back, and goes to bully a Commodore into letting Kirk fast track his studies.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna keep randomly adding chapters to this as I please.

Chris, if he’s being perfectly honest, is absolutely, mind-numbingly bored.

For three hours now he’s been staring at the same set of raw statistics data, trying in vain to wrangle it into some vague semblance of order. He’s tried everything; means and standard deviations and charts and confidence limits and Spearman’s ranks and Normal distribution bell curves and god knows what else.

It still all looks like an entirely meaningless jumble of numbers. 

He’s about five seconds away from Comming Spock and begging the Vulcan to come and do it for him, but he’s not sure if that would be unethical or not. Instead he drops his head on his desk and moans loudly.

“Ey Pike! How’s it going?”

Chris looks up and glowers over the top of his monitor at Thomlinson, who’s stood just inside his office wearing a shit eating grin.

“I will cut your spleen out and feed it to your husband while he sleeps,” he growls teasingly. 

“So not managed to find a correlation between the Andorian intake and the budget allocations for the Beta sector then?” she smirks.

“There is no goddamn correlation,” Chris mock sobs. “I have tried every statistical permutation in existence and all its saying is that Andorians don’t give a shit about propaganda.”

“Surely that’s a good thing though Pike?” Thomlinson asks, cocking her head sideways. “Means we don’t have to waste our budget on pointless advertising.”

“That’s the problem though,” Chris moans, letting his chair slide backwards until it clunks against the back wall. “We worked this out years ago and have been using that portion of our budget for other stuff. Only yesterday, Command finally noticed it’s not going to its allocation and are threatening to take the credits off us.”

“So now you’re desperately trying to prove Andorians do care after all so we can keep the credits.”

“Basically,” Chris agrees, scrubbing his hands down his face. 

“I’m so glad I’m not you right now,” she snorts, slowly walking backwards out the door. “Later Pike, enjoy your suffering!”

“Spleen Tomlinson! And I’ll take it out with a Klingon battle spoon!”

* * *

“Have you seen this picture Pike?”

“What picture?” Chris asks disinterested as he successfully completes another game of 3D solitaire. He smiles to himself as the four piles of cards go into autocomplete and neatly stack up on their tiers.

“Wow, your boss is staring right at you and you’re still playing card games with your feet propped up on your desk.”

Chris looks up and grins at Z’aro. Her antenna twitch in irritation. 

“Also your office is trashed and this parcel has been sat here a week unopened,” she continues sternly. “You still haven’t sent me the statistics I asked for six hours ago, Thomlinson is cheerfully telling everyone in earshot that you threatened to disembowel her, and your nephew-in-law apparently got magni-clamped to the side of the robotics building this morning.”

Chris blinks.

“Mini Boyce got stuck to a wall?” he asks bemusedly, choosing to ignore the rest of the Commodore’s diatribe.

“Apparently someone rather harshly told him to crawl his nerd-self back to the hole in Medical he came out of and he got defensive back,” she shrugs. “I don’t know the details but there are pictures of him all over the holonet.”

“Ahh the joys of Plebe year,” Chris sighs nostalgically, gesturing to the Padd Z’aro’s still holding. “All the pranks you never asked for and a total absence of respect from your elders.”

“You do know that’s only an issue in Command track right?” she replies disapprovingly after she’s passed the device over. Chris looks down at the image with a wince of sympathy; Kirk’s been completely immobilised in it, and his glasses are in two pieces and have been taped to his chest. “This is why Command Cadets have to go to four times as many anti-bullying seminars as the rest of the Academy Pike. Anyway I thought you’d like to know that he’s become the latest target of the Upperclassman Asshole Brigade.”

“I’ll Comm my other half and send him to check up on him.”

“See that you do worker minion, and please finally open this damn parcel and actually do some work maybe?”

“Aye aye Commodore supreme,” he salutes lazily, already leaning forward to load up another game of solitaire.

“Parcel. Statistics,” she repeats pointedly. “And clear an unobstructed path to your desk Pike, before I change the name tag on your door to Hellion.”

* * *

Chris is the last one home that evening. 

Kirk, as has become usual over the last week, is sprawled on the floor in their front room with a variety of Padds scattered around him. Phil is dozing on the couch to the left of him, some old nature documentary playing to itself on the opposite wall.

“Hey Captain,” Kirk greets absently, not looking up from what ever simulation he’s running.

“Don’t you have your own floor to clutter up kid?” Chris grunts back as he moves to perch on the edge of the couch by Phil’s head. His husband smiles dopily up at him, and Chris immediately feels compelled to lean down and drop a soft kiss on those sinful lips. So he does.

“Your floor is bigger. More space.”

Kirk still hasn’t turned around to look at him.

“Have you ever heard of the Library?” Chris asks good humouredly. “Lots of space there. Personal study pods, rooms you can book out, data cores you can borrow, big sim screens to work on…”

“Uncle Phil feeds me if I come here,” Kirk replies. And Chris can _hear_ the grin on the lad’s face.

“Ah makes sense,” Chris says gravely, stroking his Doctor's cheek affectionately. “Your using us for food. Good plan, Phil’s an excellent cook.”

“Too damn right I am,” Phil rumbles, speaking up for the first time. “Besides sweetpea, our boyo here deserves a decent homecooked meal after spending an hour and half clamped to a building this morning. And the bastards broke his glasses.”

“Yes, I heard about that,” Chris muses. “I’m not sure whether to be proud or disappointed that people are still using the same old tricks instead of thinking up something new.”

“Show a little sympathy to the victim Chrissy,” Phil reprimands gently. “Regardless of their methods, Jimbo still suffered at the hands of a bunch of bullies today.”

“Oh my god, you let him call you _Chrissy!”_ Kirk near squeals mirthfully, finally turning to look in their direction.

“If you ever repeat that name to anyone, I will clamp you to a building myself and make sure you stay there all night,” Chris threatens calmly. “And I will attach a rude message to your chest that will ensure no-one ever takes you seriously ever again. I will singlehandedly ruin your Starfleet career.”

“Threat noted,” Kirk snorts. “But its still cute.”

“Ignore him kid,” Phil chuckles himself. “He pretends to be hardass, but he’s a marshmallow really. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit he’s let his crew get away with over the years.”

“Philip I have a reputation to maintain, please be silent.”

“Nope,” Phil teases, sitting up to press his face into Chris’ neck. “I think I’ll just carry on telling everyone how adorable you are thanks.”

“Aaaaand I’m leaving,” Jim exclaims as he starts hurriedly shoving all his Padds into his satchel. “Thanks for the pasta and muffins Phil, and thanks for getting my glasses fixed.”

“No problem kiddo,” Phil smiles, peering over Chris’ shoulder. “I’ll see you Friday evening, packed and ready to go.”

“Shuttle port terminal 4 at 5:30 on the dot, got it,” Jim nods as he stands. “Night!”

“Did you let him eat my muffins again?” Chris grumbles in protest to Phil as the front door clicks shut behind the kid. “But they were triple chocolate!”

“Marshmallow doesn’t just apply to your personality right now sunbeam,” Phil smirks, poking him fondly in the stomach.

* * *

“It better not be cold in New York,” Chris grumbles as he drops his bag down on the empty seat row in front of him.

“It’s mid-August fruit-bean. It’ll be 23 degrees or so.”

“I suppose,” he mumbles back, scooting up to Phil until he can worm his arms around him under his jacket. “But I packed my hat and scarf just in case.”

“I expect no less of you,” Phil chortles, affectionately tapping the end of his nose with one finger before hugging him back. “And here comes Jim, right on time.”

“He hasn’t had any more trouble with those dickbonce Cadets this week has he?” Chris asks as he turns to glance behind him.

“Not that I’ve heard. But then I doubt he’d mention it unless pressed. Bit of the stubbornly independent type he is. Remind you of any one love?”

“No comment,” Chris mutters quietly before turning to greet Kirk. Phil keeps an arm slipped around his waist, and use the other one to quickly pull Kirk into a brief embrace. Chris just awkwardly pats his arm and wishes Phil would still let him get away with an impersonal handshake. 

“No problems getting here then kiddo?” Phil asks once they’ve shuffled over to the row of seats and collapsed into them. Chris leans over until he’s leaning against Phil’s arm, and then wiggles a few times until his husband gets the hint and drops his arm over his shoulders. 

“Its barely a ten-minute walk here from the dorms,” Kirk shrugs as he leans forward in his seat. “I just shrugged out of my uniform, grabbed my bag and walked over here.”

“Wow did you hear that Phil?” Chris gasps. “He actually goes to his own dorm sometimes!”

“What are you implying?” Kirk squints back, clearly not offended but happily playing along. “I have only slept in my own bed or at yours since you dragged me to San Fran.”

“Exactly,” Chris grins. “We only met a week and a half ago and you’ve already stayed at our house more times than in your own room.”

“He’s allowed, he’s family,” Phil rumbles, squeezing Chris under his arm a little. 

“Speaking of family,” Chris tangents with a nod towards their shuttle gate being opened for boarding. “Are you ready to meet your parents and siblings James Boyce?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Kirk replies nervously, gathering up his luggage and gesturing for Chris and Phil to proceed him.

* * *

Despite only being a low altitude internal continent hop, the shuttle ride over to the east coast takes seemingly forever. Phil sleeps on his shoulder for most of it, and Kirk spends most of his time with his head in a Padd doing god knows what. Nothing that Chris understands from the few brief glimpses he gets of the screen anyway.

And so, being incapable of getting his own Padd out without disturbing Phil, he settles in to stare out of the window at the tops of the clouds wisping below.

* * *

It’s 11pm East Coast Time when they touch down in the Central New York shuttle port. 

Kirk leaps up out of his seat almost before the harness sign has blinked off, a sudden bundle of energy chattering away a mile a minute about the old Empire State building and the other landmarks destroyed in World War III. 

“Jim Boyce; history nerd,” Phil yawns as he stretches.

“We’ll have to take him out to New Manhattan while we’re here,” Chris agrees quietly, watching as Kirk continues his enthusiastic chattering with an older lady who had been sat in the opposite row. She smiles indulgently as he begins gesticulating wildly and spinning on the spot to point at unseen horizons.

“Okay Jimmy, I think we should go find Joey and Ravenna huh?” Phil interrupts him, placing his hands on the kid’s shoulder’s from behind. “Its gonna be gone midnight local time before we get in at this rate.”

“Oh, sure,” Jim gulps, suddenly looking guilty. “I’ll umm, just grab my bags and catch up okay?”

“We’ll be by the public transporter bay kid,” Phil smiles. And then, turning to glance back at Chris, “shall we honey?”

Chris smiles back and leans forward to catch Phil’s hand in his as an answer.

“That’s one cute kid you got there fellas,” the old lady grins up at them. “Sounds whip smart too, so you look after him now; he’s precious.”

“Oh he’s not-” Chris starts to say.

“Thank-you Ma’am, and we will,” Phil cuts him off, squeezing his hand gently.

She pats Phil on the arm as she steps passed them towards the shuttles door and Phil beams back at her.

“I thought you guys were going off ahead?” Kirk asks as he steps back up behind them, bags now in hand.

“We were,” Chris responds dryly, “and then Phil here got chatty.”

“Hypocrite,” Jim smirks good naturedly, nudging Phil’s shin with the toe of his boot.

* * *

It is indeed after 12pm before they crawl up into the attic conversion suite in Joey and Ravenna’s sprawling suburban new-build. 

Despite having slept on the flight over and his body clock telling him it’s not yet ten o’clock, Phil is out like a light as soon as he’s laid down on his usual side of the double bed. Jim watches him for a few long seconds with one eyebrow raised, and then turns to look at Chris.

“Wish I could fall asleep like that,” he says quietly. He slowly drops his bags onto the floor next to the made up sofa-bed under the Velux windows by the back wall. 

“You and me both buddy,” Chris snorts affectionately. “Doctor Boyce here could sleep through a phase 9 solar storm. Would have done in fact, if he hadn’t conditioned himself to wake immediately if the red alert sirens start going off.”

“That is scarily impressive,” Kirk chuckles. “You going to bed too? I can just work quietly if you are.”

“Nah,” Chris declines. “I won’t sleep if I go now. I’d rather not just lie and stare at the ceiling if I can avoid it.”

“Well in that case, fancy a game of chess?”

“2D or 3D?” Chris grins back.

* * *

As is usual with any Boyce family interactions, breakfast is a lively, manic affair.

Growing up a single child, Chris has always been fascinated by the chaos common to the various Boyce households. With four brothers and two sisters, each with a multitude of kids of their own, Phil’s family is rather extensive, and as a result, are very loud and raucous.

Joey is Phil’s identical twin brother, and they both still resemble each other enough that even Chris does double takes sometimes. This is not helped by the way they deliberately share and swap clothes when around each other.

Thankfully for Chris, he doesn’t get confused very often, and Joey’s kids almost never do.

Kirk however has blushed to his roots three times already this morning after getting their names mixed up.

“Please tell me the secret to telling them apart,” the boy begs him, three-year-old Ellie sitting on his foot and clinging to his leg.

Chris leans over and rescues his mug of coffee from Jesse before the teen can filch it. 

“No secret, just lots of space-honed instincts,” he grins back. “Watch your croissant, Dannie is about to eat it.”

Kirk swears under his breath and hurriedly darts back to the worktop where he’d left his plate.

Chris laughs as Beans then uses Kirk’s distraction to lift his Academy issued Comm out of his back pocket and sprint off with it with his sister.

* * *

“I have jam in my hair,” Kirk sulks when they finally escape to the privacy of their room that evening.

“You’ve had jam in your hair all day boyo,” Phil laughs sleepily. “Blythe put her sticky mitts in your mop at about 9am and its been there ever since.”

“Never thought I’d say this, but I’m suddenly real glad I was the younger, annoying brother. Sam must have been a saint if this is what he put up with on a daily basis.”

“Being a middle child is the best,” Phil mumbles, already stripping out of his clothes and grabbing for his (Chris’ actually, but Chris doesn’t mind) pyjama pants. 

“Just be glad you had a sibling at all,” Chris adds. “When I broke something, I had no-one to blame it on.”

“Yeah but there was also no one blaming you for breaking stuff you hadn’t touched either,” Phil points out, throwing the sheets aside and crawling onto the bed.

“Touché,” Chris chuckles.

* * *

Half a dozen family photos taken, one trip out into New Manhattan and the rebuilt Coney Island, and two ice-creams each later, and Chris finally manages to coerce both his husband and his accidently acquired stray back to the NY shuttle port. 

Kirk is wearing a cheap tourist Unite Earth Republic tee over his grey button-up shirt, clutching a cheap toy telescope in one hand, and waving his Padd around with the other. He’s talking at a mile a minute again, seventeen-year-old Lina Boyce hanging off his every word with a dreamy look. 

Off to his left, Phil is being hugged and patted by all the other members of Joey’s branch of the Boyce clan. Grinning from ear to ear, Phil is the very vision of the cool uncle as he hugs back and laughs away.

Chris stays out of the way, but he knows that he too is going to get submitted to at least one round of hugging before they manage to get onto the shuttle.

* * *

“Pike!” his boss yells. “Get your ass in here!”

“No!” he shouts back automatically before turning on the spot and heading into the main office.

“This is why you are my least favourite,” Z’aro deadpans.

“Lies. Everyone adores 8am under caffeinated Christopher Pike,” he grumbles back.

Z’aro snorts and then reaches under her desk, hauling out the parcel that had until now been living on Chris’ office floor.

“Recognise this oh grumpy one?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And how long have you been ignoring it for?”

“Erm…” he answers eloquently. 

“Two weeks Pike. It has been two weeks since I left it in your doorway Captain. Two weeks since I was ordered to pass it on to you by the Admiralty.”

“Erm…” he says again. 

“Why have you not opened it?”

“Because it might be a bomb?” he says with as straight a face as he can manage. He doesn’t actual know why he’s been ignoring it to be honest, but he’s not going to admit that. 

“Trust me Pike, they only person who wants to blow you up right now is me. But as you still have goodwill built up as payment for your magical bullshit stats wrangling last week, I will grudgingly choose to be merciful. However I will change my mind immediately if you don’t open this hackin’ parcel right now.”

* * *

“PHIL OH MY GOD PHIL!” Chris shrieks into his Comm, pacing up and down the corridor outside Z’aro’s office frantically.

“Uhhhh what?”

“PhiltheparcelhadamodelEnterpriseinitand-”

“Woah baby woah, slow down! I can’t understand you.”

“Phil! Command sent me the official model of the Enterprise! The one from the honours hall!”

“…Oh my god does that mean what I think it does!?”

“Phil it has my name engraved in the Captains plaque underneath it! They’re trusting me with the new girl!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pick it up, shake it up.  
> Turn it around and change the POV.

Jim has no idea what he’s doing.

He has no idea why he let himself get talked into joining Starfleet.

No idea why he asked to pretend to be Captain Pike’s kid.

No idea why he went along with the Nephew scheme that the Captain cooked up instead.

No idea why he’s _still_ going along with it and spending so much time at his “uncles’” house.

No idea at all.

But he is so, so glad that all of these things _have_ happened.

The academic year has been in full swing for about three weeks now. By working flat out before the start of term, he’d already managed to test out of a number of basic classes, and get a head start on several of the others. He’s already getting top grades, making a good impression, and settling in nicely.

And he’s pretty sure the ease with which he’s managed this is largely down to his new inconspicuous surname.

Well.

 _Mostly_ inconspicuous surname.

Only a hand full of people on campus have heard of recently promoted Surgeon-Captain Boyce, and those who have tend to be from ‘Fleet families themselves. The sole exception to this being some big-shot wonnabe in his fourth year, who seems to think that being related to a Doctor means Jim’s not “worthy” of studying Command Track and consequently will _not_ stop giving him grief (Jim later finds out the guy’s own father was in competition with Phil for the promotion, and so, rather relieved, writes it off as a family grudge rather than anything more personal).

Above all though, Jim’s still well aware that he would have had a _much_ worse time of it if he had joined the Academy as a Kirk, and so he’s quite content to just keep his head down and weather the storm. Hell, Plebe Cadet Hazing seems to be some sort of annual tradition, at least among the Command Cadets, and having seen some of the shit other people have been subjected to, Jim thinks he’s getting off pretty lightly actually.

He’s seen all sorts of unpleasantness befall his year mates; everything from being pushed into fountains to having their clothing vaporised to discovering their food was spiked with laxatives. Some poor Trill kid had turned up to PT the other day with all of his equipment set solid in a sizable block of araldite resin for instance, and last week a Catian in his introduction to disaster protocol had arrived half bald after some douchebag had filled her shower bottles with instant-set hair removal wax.

Basically, Jim’s glad the only thing that has befallen him so far is an hour or so stuck to a wall. Even if his glasses got broken in the process.

His Uncle Phil got them fixed for him pretty quick any way.

Is it odd that he already thinks of the guy as an actual uncle? It’s barely been two months.

Or it more odd that he’s taken to Comming his “parents” in New York at least once a week? Giving them updates on his life and studies exactly the same way his roommate does with their actual parents?

Jim, as he said, has no idea what he’s doing. Or _why._

* * *

“Bones!” Jim exclaims gleefully.

The grouchy doctor swivels to look at him with his ever present scowl and Jim grins wider.

“What kid? Can’t you see I’m working?”

“You’re in Medical wearing scrubs and I know you’re a doctor. Of course I can see that you’re working.”

“Well why the hell are you botherin’ me then?”

Jim grins and slides closer, trailing his fingers along the surface of the ER’s reception desk as he walks.

“Well I was looking for my uncle, but then I saw you standing here looking all pretty and I just had to come and say hi.”

Bones’ expression does not change in the slightest. Jim carefully widens his grin even further.

“How about no,” the doctor drawls slowly.

“Aw but-”

“No.”

Jim sighs in a put-upon manner.

“Not happening Boyce, no matter how much you try it on with the puppy eyes. Now can I please go get on with my job? I have a patient waiting on me.”

“Of course I’ll let you go,” Jim smirks. “On the condition that you agree to go for a drink with me.”

“Your uncle is upstairs in the radiography wing.”

Jim pouts over dramatically as Bones sidesteps around him and strides away down the hall rapidly.

“Just one drink!” he shouts at the doctor’s retreating back. “Your choice of time and place! Bones! Just one- annnnd he’s gone.”

He huffs to himself and turns to the receptionist, who has been snickering at him increasingly loudly for several seconds now.

“What about you?” he asks, batting his eyelashes behind his glasses. “Do you fancy going for a drink with me.”

“In your dreams, baby Boyce,” she snorts.

* * *

Jim should have kept his mouth shut instead of jinxing his streak of good luck.

“Why is it so sticky?” he moans, watching as large globs of the clear stuff drips slowly from his fingers.

Its Durlian gel Kirk,” Uhura sighs. “This is what happens when you beat an Upperclassman’s speed run record on your first try. Of course she was gonna get revenge on you for showing her up.”

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses considerably more harshly. “My name is Jim _Boyce_. And its not like I even knew there was a record to beat. I just got in the damn sim and did my best, _like the instructor asked me to.”_

“Alright, chill,” the xenolinguist mutters. “I know you’re not trying to be a smartass know-it-all obsessed with fame; changing your name before you got here proves that. The slip up was an accident and I’ll try not to do it again.”

“Sorry,” Jim mumbles, sluicing more of the goop off his face as best he can. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s fine, I’m the one who messed up. Now come on, I’ll walk you back to your dorm so you can shower and change.”

* * *

He’s been locked out of his dorm building.

The computer refuses to grant him entry.

“But I’m on the system!” he shouts futilely at the access panel by the door. “I have it right here loaded up on my Padd!”

On the other side of the glass, several of his dormmates are stood laughing at him hysterically. Not one of them has shown any inclination towards opening the door for him.

“Access denied.” The computer chants monotonously back him once more.

“It’s not gonna let you in Boyce,” Uhura snorts, standing with her arms crossed behind him. 

“Computer, authorise entry for James T. Boyce, Cadet fourth class,” he tries again

“Access denied.”

Jim lets his sticky hair drop onto the wall above the panel.

“Today is not my day,” he groans.

* * *

“Heeeeyyyy…” he greets when Captain Pike opens his front door.

“Hazing prank?” The gruff man guesses instantly, eyeing Jim up and down critically.

“Two in a row,” Uhura agrees from behind him. “First the goo, and then discovering he’s been locked out of his dorm.”

Pike frowns at the Cadet behind him, and then glances at him questioningly.

“Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have more friends than just Bones,” Jim grins. “Now can I borrow your shower and some more of your clothes?”

“I’m pretty sure Cadet McCoy would insist he’s not your friend if I were to ask him kid,” Pike grunts. “But fine. Go round to the back patio and wash as much of that stuff off with the hose before you set foot in my house though.”

“This is why he’s my favourite,” Jim stage whispers behind him.

“I’m not feeding you again though,” Pike states, before shutting the door in their faces.

* * *

Jim stares down at the bowl of mash and red-tinged sauce on the table in front of him.

He pokes at what he suspects is a lump of meat with his fork.

“It’s just beef goulash you muppet,” Pike sighs, clearly resisting the urge to clip him round the head. “Its not even a xeno-recipe; it’s Earth Hungarian. And yes, I did check the ingredients against your allergy list before making it.”

“I am gonna eat it,” Jim mumbles defensively. “I’ve just never come across it before.”

He pushes the lump of beef into the mash and then scoops it up, staring at Pike pointedly as he slowly raises it to his mouth.

His eyes widen.

“Okay, its good,” he garbles around his mouth full, already shovelling more onto his fork.

“Why are you friends with him?” Pike asks Uhura, reaching for his glass of wine with a mildly disgusted glance at Jim.

“Same reason you are sir,” she smirks. “I watched him get beaten into the floor and then had the misfortune to feel sorry for him.”

* * *

“You’re wearing my husband’s clothes,” is the first thing Phil says when he stumbles into the kitchen after his late-night shift at Medical. 

“He got goo’d,” Pike grouses from beside the sonic dishwasher. “And then deleted from his dorm block’s computer system.”

The Captain hands Jim another clean bowl, and he dutifully stacks it in the cupboard with the rest.

“Oh,” Phil says simply. “Did you get it all off?”

“Uhura rinsed him with the garden hosepipe and then I shoved him straight in the shower.”

“Oh,” Phil says inanely again, obviously exhausted. “Is he staying here tonight then?”

“I am stood literally right here guys,” Jim protests. “Stop talking about me in the third person!”

“Yes, he’s staying here tonight,” Pike continues, ignoring him entirely. “His boots are still sodden and he’s not borrowing mine.”

“Did you feed him?”

“Yes I fed your nephew. And his friend. Yours is inside the replicator keeping warm.”

“Oh good. Jimbo has a friend?”

“Yeah I was shocked to,” Pike smirks. “She’s gone home now though; she’s doesn’t overstay her welcome like your stray does. Now get your food and go sit down before you fall down bean.”

“Literally. Right. Here,” Jim whines, pointing at the floor by his feet.

* * *

Bones is in his first-aid class as a TA.

Jim cannot believe his good luck.

“So about that date,” he opens with, sidling up to the doctor with a hopeful look.

“We are in class Boyce,” Bones grates out between clenched teeth.

“But after class we can go for drinks?”

“Your patient is about to bleed out,” the doctor snarks, pointing at the sim monitor attached to one of his classmates lying on the floor.

“Bohansen will be fine, won’t you?”

Bohansen groans theatrically, spasms unrealistically, and then goes unnaturally still (Except for the way her lips are twitching mirthfully).

“See, she’s fine!” Jim repeats as the sim monitor on her chest begins to wail the one long tone of flatline. “So you and me, a decent bar, some slow-dance music, a lecture or two on the practical exploration of human anatomy?”

“Your unbelievable Boyce,” the doctor growls.

Jim sighs in disappointment as he once again stalks off with his shoulders held rigid.

“What about you?” Jim asks, glancing down at where Bohansen is now laughing hysterically at him. “Do you wonna go for a drink with me?”

* * *

“Hey my funky uncle,” Jim greets as the front door once again swings open. “Can I borrow your bitter half’s computer terminal to run some sims again?”

“Oh yeah sure,” Phil agrees absently, stepping aside and waving him in. “My bitter half’s XO is here though, so be prepared to engage in the world’s most awkward small talk while you wait for the system to boot up.”

* * *

Captain Pike’s First Officer is a Vulcan.

Pointy ears, green hue and all.

And Phil was right; Commander Spock is _terrible_ at small talk.

“So err, you teach languages as well?” Jim tries tentatively.

“Affirmative Cadet,” is the only reply he gets.

“Any particular language?” he tries after several more seconds of silence.

“I am fluent in Andorian, Tellerite, and Vulcan.”

“Oh yeah, I err… guessed about the Vulcan.”

“Such an assumption is indeed logical.”

They lapse back into silence once more.

Jim shuffles.

Stares at the floor.

Opens his mouth.

“Jimmy?” Phil suddenly calls from upstairs. “Will you bring your wizzkid brain up here and fix the damn shower again!? The sonic function seems to have died!”

“Oh thank god,” Jim mutters quietly to himself, scrambling to his feet and darting towards the stairs.”

* * *

Spock is still standing in the front room staring unblinkingly out of the windows looking out onto the street when Jim comes clattering back downstairs after Phil. 

Fortunately, Pike comes huffing his way through the front door less than five seconds later, and thus frees Jim from any further small talk obligations. 

Unfortunately, the first thing he says is:

“I’m going to start charging you rent son.”

Jim grins and darts into the study with his hands in finger guns.

* * *

“Cause I want it now,  
I want it nooooww,  
Give me your heart and your sooooul!”

Jim is distantly aware that he’s really goddamn drunk. Drunker than he should be. But there’s also some hot guy grinding against his ass who’s singing along to the driving beats of the classical music just as tunelessly as he is.

“And I'm breaking ouuuut,  
I'm breaking out!  
Last chance to lose control!”

Jim giggles helplessly as they both sing the last note of the chorus at completely different pitches.

“I’m Gary,” hot guy slurs.

“I’m James T- Jim T- Just Jim,” he slurs back. 

“Nice to meet ch’ya Just Jim,” Gary sniggers. “You want another drink hot stuff?”

Gary runs a finger up his cheek, stopping at the arm of his glasses, and Jim shivers.

“Uh,” he says non committedly, considering his options. “Maybe?”

“Stay here then sweetingly.”

The finger trails back down his cheek and dances over his lips, damp with sweat. And then he is gone, and Jim is left swaying on his own, anticipation thrumming through his core.

* * *

“Jesus Boyce!” 

Jim is going to cry.

Tears everywhere.

“He made out with some girl Bonesy!” he sobs, stumbling further into the reception hall of the ER. “He went to get me a drink and then he was…” he trails off and waves his hands instead, pausing mid gesture to wipe the snot off his nose with his wrist.

“Okay, okay, how much have you drunk?” Bonsey sighs jogging up to him. Jim doesn’t want him to sigh; he wants a hug.

“Some drinks,” he answers, reaching out to pull the cuddle-giver closer to him. 

“How many is some?”

His grabby hands are avoided. This will not do.

“Boyce, answer the question!”

“Err, there was three?” he guesses, batting at his tear-laden eyes and his stupid, stupid glasses.

“Three of what?”

Bonsey is gripping his arm now, tugging him towards the main corridor which leads to the turbo lifts and the wards. 

“Err. Just beer? Three.” He holds up three fingers to emphasis. “Bottles. Three of them. Buds. Bottles. Three.”

“Oh Jesus,” Bonesy-baby groans.

Is he concerned? Jim thinks he looks concerned. Why would he be concerned? Should Jim be concerned too?

“Okay kid, sit up here.”

There’s a biobed. Bonsey is patting it. When did they come in a room?

He doesn’t want to sit, he wants a hug.

“I just want a hug,” he says.

“And I want you to sit,” the doctor replies slowly. Too slowly.

“Don’t talk slow, m not dumb,” 

“I know your not Boyce.” And oh no, he made Bonsey sigh again.

“m, sorry,” he pouts. “But I still want a hug?”

“If you sit down I will go fetch your uncles and then they can give you many hugs Boyce.”

Jim considers. 

“I want a Bones hug too, ‘cause Gary cheated on me straight after we met.”

“Okay fine, but please get on the biobed before you pass out. God knows what’s in your blood stream right now, and I can’t do a full scan with just this tricorder.”

Jim considers some more.

“Did I get spiked?” he asks curiously. He dislikes the way his words are blurring together. His head hurts too now.

“Well the other options are that you’re either the biggest light weight in human existence, or you’re lying about how many drinks you’ve had.”

“Three,” Jim says again, once more holding his fingers up. “Threeee whole drinksss.”

“Boyce, please sit down.”

“Jim will sit down,” Jim slurs. “And then Jim will accept his hug from Bones and then _Jim_ will go to sleep until Uncle Phil gets here for more cuddles.”

“Whatever floats your boat kid,” Bonesy says tiredly.

Jim sits.

And then Bones’ eyes go wide and he slams a big red button on the wall.

* * *

When he wakes, he is not in his own bed. At least he doesn’t think he is.

He’s not opening his eyes to find out.

The sheets smell familiar though.

Everything _hurts._

He’s gonna be sick.

He groans and desperately tries not to gag.

“Hey, hey son it’s alright.”

Jim knows the voice is talking quietly, almost whispering, but the sound still drills into his skull. The cool hand on his brow feels good though.

“Sir?” he croaks, his throat feeling scrapped raw.

“Yeah Jim, Do you remember any of last night?”

Jim shakes his head, and then has to breath very carefully through his nose for several long seconds.

“Phil and McCoy didn’t think you would,” the captain sighs. “Did you know your allergic to the Risan variant of Rohypnol? You had a hell of a seizure barely a minute after McCoy got you to lie down.”

“Spiked?” he rasps, eyes still shut tightly.

“Second beer in apparently. Guess that’ll put you off Bud classic for life.”

“Gurrr,” he replies intelligently.

“Yeah that too,” the Captain chuckles, twisting a lock of Jim’s fringe around his fingers. “Once they got you stabilised and rehydrated, Phil insisted on bringing you home and sitting with you. I sent him to bed when he nearly fell asleep leaning on you.” 

“Home?”

“You’re here often enough kid,” Pike snorts. “And as I said, Phil insisted on getting you out of Medical. Something about you despising hospital stays. So here you are.”

“Bad memories,” he whispers.

“Yeah I bet. I saw your whole file when I illegally changed your name for you.”

Jim shudders.

Remembering.

“Gonna be sick,” he grunts, scrabbling suddenly to the edge of the bed, his eyes flying open.

“All hands brace for impact,” Pike mutters before shoving a bucket under his face with suspiciously practised ease.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay first up, this largely deals with the aftermath of the events of last chapter so there are some things you need to be warned about.
> 
>  **CONTENT WARNING:** mentions of non-con and past non-con. a gang of despicable human trash bags that someone should probably murder.

Jim doesn’t know how to handle it.

The attention. 

He’s been staying with Phil and Pike for three days now at their insistence. He’s officially on medical leave and will be for at least another two days (despite his own (incorrect) insistence that he’s fine), which means the two older men have had plenty of opportunity to, well, mother hen him to death. 

Jim is well aware that his perception of what’s normal when it comes to care and concern has been very badly skewed by his less than stellar childhood, but even still, he’s sure that both Phil and Pike are going above and beyond.

Phil has always been fairly affectionate with him, right from the first moment they met.

But now…

Phil pets his hair constantly. Twists it gently round his fingers, puts it in short little braids, ruffles it up so it stands on end. Every time Jim is within arm’s length of the man, he plays with his increasingly long black strands.

He also tucks blankets around him while he lazes around on the couch. Gives him cushions or pillows to stuff behind his head. Brings him hot cocoa and plates of cookies and cake. Ice cream. Fruit. Cherry tomatoes. A can of whipped cream.

And he’s always, always asking _is there anything else you want Jim? Anything at all?_

And then there’s Captain Pike, who’s always been much warmer towards him than his words and tone suggest, but he seems to have discarded the gruff façade entirely suddenly. Normally he grumbles and snarks and complains, but then does the opposite of what he’s declared he’ll do. He’ll insist on not feeding Jim “this time” and then ten minutes later demand that he come sit at the table for dinner. Order him not to come to his house that evening if they see each other on campus, and then send a dozen concerned sounding Comms that evening asking why he hasn’t shown up yet. 

But that’s normally. 

Ever since Jim’s slightly too close brush with death, Pike has been… bordering on smothering if he’s honest. 

Phil has to go to Medical for his shifts everyday despite Jim’s still sub-par health, but Pike apparently convinced his boss to let him work from home. So while Phil often isn’t in the house for long stretches of time, Pike is there _all the time._

And good lord, he’s suddenly become very touchy feely. 

He’s noticed the way the Captain and Phil interact; all the casual, seemingly subconscious little touches. But he’s also noticed the way that Phil is the much more tactile of the pair, how he’s always the one to initiate hugs and hand holding, How he’s the one who regularly pushes his head into Pike’s lap when they’re cuddled up together on one of the couches in the front room. How he’s the one who will drop little kisses onto the Captain’s brow or drop his chin onto the captain’s shoulder from behind.

How it’s Phil, and not Pike that’s demonstratively physically affectionate (even if Pike obviously enjoys the way Phil can't keep his hands to himself). 

And how that extends to their interactions with him. 

But now, its almost like a switch has been flipped. Jim can’t be within three feet of the man without having his shoulder clasped or his back patted. His hair, which he’s been growing out as part of his disguise, gets tussled regularly now even when Phil isn’t around. He’s constantly being watched. If he gets up to go to the kitchen, Pike will follow him. Return to the living room and Pike will follow him. Trundle upstairs to the bathroom, and Pike will suddenly decide he needs to go grab something from his bedroom and thus follow him up the stairs. 

He does things like carefully pulling Jim’s glasses off his face when he’s started to doze off in front of the TV. Or brings him towels when he showers that have clearly just come straight out of the refresher unit and are still warm. Lends him old tees worn so soft that there’s almost holes in them and then gruffly mutters he can keep them when he tries to give them back at the end of the day.

He sits right next to him on the couch even though he’s never really sat on the same couch as him at all before.

And follows him up to bed at night so that he can tuck him in like he’s a young kid.

As he said, borderline smothering.

But despite being thoroughly confused by Pike’s actions, Jim finds he doesn’t actually mind all that much. It’s… nice, if he’s being honest. He’s never been given so much unconditional attention before. To be completely truthful, he’s not sure he’s _ever_ been given any unconditional attention at all before. 

Not the positive kind of attention anyway.

Which is pretty depressing now he’s thinking about it actually. 

And oh great, now Pike is frowning at him with obvious concern from across the kitchen. 

Jim forces his features back into a more neutral expression, and then smiles tentatively as he’s handed yet another hot mug of cocoa and patted on the shoulder. 

He resolves (for the fourth time today alone) to not mention the sudden change in Pike’s behaviour and the stalkerish attitude in case he accidently causes it stop.

Because he doesn’t want it to stop.

For the first time in his life, Jim is enjoying casual touch. 

He _can’t_ let it stop.

* * *

“Can I cook?” Phil calls as soon as he steps in through the front door. He’s had an early morning shift at Medical and so has managed to make it back home before 3pm. 

“No!” Pike shouts back adamantly from next to Jim in the study. “Seriously, don’t ever let that uncle of yours try and make anything more complicated than a pot noodle,” he adds more quietly with a chuckle. “he will set the house on fire given even half a chance.”

“I promise I won’t burn anything!” Phil grins, appearing in the doorway. Jim twists the desk chair round to face him with a grin of his own. 

“Honey, you managed to burn a raw salad once,” Pike sighs fondly. “And melt the bowl it was in. Please just continue to leave all food preparation to me yeah?”

“I’m not as bad as he thinks I am,” Phil says cheerfully directly to Jim.

“I think I’ll remain neutral for now thanks,” he replies, with a sideways glance at Pike that hopefully conveys where his loyalty actually lies.

(With Pike in this instance.)

(Definitely with Pike.)

(Phil made him toast two days ago. He’s never seen bread that black and still somehow in one piece.)

“So can we have tofu-balls in tomato sauce even if I have to let you make it?” Phil begs, with an over-dramatic puppy-eyes expression; he clasps his hands under his chin and everything, much to Jim’s amusement.

 _“You_ can have tofu-balls sweets. Jim and I will have real people food and have meatballs.”

“Meat-eating heathens!”

“And yet you still love me Philip.”

Phil mock-scowls, but then darts forward to drop a kiss on his husband’s brow. Jim catches himself smiling bemusedly once again and thinks

_I might not have gotten this in my childhood, but at least I’m getting it now._

* * *

And then. In the middle of day four of staying with Phil and Pike.

Things change.

* * *

It starts with Pike suddenly scowling at his Padd.

They’d been sat in the front room side by side on the couches again. Jim had just taken his afternoon dose of arasregenerozaprine and was feeling rather sleepy as a result. 

He’d been wondering if Pike would let him get away with leaning over and using his shoulder as pillow. He’d been _this close_ to just doing it and seeing how the man would respond.

But then.

Then Pike had scowled.

Jim had noticed the expression out of the corner of his eye. And he had also noticed that it was much more severe than his usual constant frowning. 

It was a harsh expression. One filled with simmering rage. 

It reminded Jim of the looks his kids had given the guards when they’d all finally been caught. 

It wasn’t directed at him; Jim could tell that instantly. No, the source of Pike’s upset was whatever he’d been looking at on his Padd. He’d been flicking and tapping around on it for hours at a time every day, but a lot of people did that at the Academy so he’d thought nothing of it. He hadn’t even bothered trying to get a glimpse of the screen. 

Maybe Jim should have tried after all. 

Because whatever Pike was now looking at, it had obviously made him furious.

“I need to go out kid. Can you Comm your uncle if need anything?”

Jim grunts an agreement, too surprised by the sharp tone to do more.

And then Pike is hastily tugging his boots on and grabbing his jacket.

And striding out the door.

* * *

It starts with Pike scowling at his Padd and disappearing outside.

It continues with the front doorbell being pressed repeatedly. 

It’s been two and a half hours since Pike left. 

Jim hesitates before he forces himself to his feet and goes to answer the door. It’s not his house after all, and he’s not expecting one of his own friends to drop by today; he knows he’s far too drugged up and dopey to be sociable today. But he figures that if whoever it is, is being that persistent with the doorbell it must be urgent. And at the very least he’ll be able to take a message and tell the visitor that neither Pike nor Phil are in. 

But when he opens the door, it’s not a visitor.

It’s Pike himself.

Barely conscious and held up between the arms of Commander Spock and an old Admiral Jim has never met. 

His face is red and bloody, and one eye is swollen shut.

“Cadet Boyce,” Spock greets with his usual bland and neutral tone. “May we enter the premises?”

Jim scrambles back out of the way hurriedly with a nod and gestures for them to come inside.

“What happened?” he asks, sounding confused and shocked to his own ears. He follows the three men into the front room, questions swirling round his head like a hurricane of bewilderment. 

“Chrissy here thought he’d take the law into his own hands,” the Admiral scoffs with a roll of his eyes as he helps Spock lower a groaning Pike to lie on the biggest couch. “Blithering idiot. He always has been impulsive when it comes to defending his friends and crew, but he’s never flown this far off the handle before. Not to my knowledge anyway.”

“The Captain approached a group of young adult humans of which some were, and some were not Starfleet Personnel. He then confronted them over an issue I believe he has been pursuing for some days now,” the Vulcan Commander explains further. “I cannot offer you a more precise timeline, as I do not currently posses the information to do so, but the confrontation swiftly became physical. The American style diner in which the altercation took place has suffered some considerable damage, as have the other participants, but due to the Captain being vastly outnumbered the Captain himself has suffered the most injury.”

“So he started a fight with a bunch of young Starfleet officers and civvies sir?” Jim asks quizzically. He hugs his arms about his chest and then uses one hand to nudge his glasses slightly further up his nose. On the couch, Pike grumbles something unintelligible and his eyelids flicker open for a second before closing again.

“And Cadets,” the Admiral grunts. “There was about twenty-five of them all in all. Thankfully for this dumbass, I was in the diner too and managed to stop the beating and drag him outside before it switched from “very bad” to “serious”. Now point me in the direction of your kitchen kid? I suppose we should clean the muppet up a little before his husband arrives in a whirlwind of panic.”

Jim gestures vaguely towards the back of the house, mumbling that it’s the door at the end of the hallway he wants. His eyes do not leave Pike’s battered form.

“Oh please tell me you didn’t go and get yourself thrashed for me sir,” Jim mutters quietly, kneeling down beside the couch. “I’m not worth the effort, honestly.”

Behind him, Spock watches in silence.

* * *

Exactly as predicted, Phil arrives in whirlwind of panic not five minutes later. 

“Chris!” he yells as he throws the front door open and comes clattering in. Jim rushes to the hallway as soon as he hears the lock click, and so he witnesses the full force of Phil’s agitation as he barrels inwards. “Jimmy! Where is he!? What happened!?”

Jim doesn’t even try to calm him down, instead steering him straight to where Chris is lying. The Captain is still very out of it, having only put up a token of protest when Jim had carefully cleaned his face with an old damp towel before lapsing back into near silence.

“Hey baby,” Phil breathes, kneeling beside the couch so fast its more a fall than a controlled lowering. Gently, he runs the runs the back of his hand over his husband’s swollen cheek, and then turns and hastily grabs for his bag with clumsy hands.

“Phil,” Pike mumbles back, still not opening his eyes. 

“Yeah honey, Jon tells me you got yourself into a bit of a scuffle.”

“Mmmm,” Pike hums gravelly. “Hurts but be okay.”

“You’ll be okay once I’ve had a proper look at you, yes sweetie.” In one hand Phil is clutching a tricorder, and the other is slowly stroking over Pike’s sideburn and the hair above his ear. Back and forth, a constant motion. “Can you tip your head for me so I can finish this scan please love?”

Jim doesn’t hear what Pike says in return again, as he slowly back out into the hallway, silently motioning to Commander Spock to follow.

* * *

The old Admiral is still rinsing out the bloodied clothes in the sink when Jim pads into the kitchen on silent feet. Spock trails in after him, but then strides to the patio doors and steps out onto the decking, hands clasped behind his back and facing away from the house.

Jim lets him go without a word and turns back to watch the kitchen’s other occupant. 

Thanks to his post-seizure meds, Jim’s head had been feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton wool before all this commotion began ten minutes ago. Now that the adrenaline is slowly leaving him again, the sensation is returning.

He can’t think of any words to break the silence with. 

“You like sixty shades of shit kid,” the Admiral grunts eventually, wringing out a once-white dishtowel and draping it over the draining board rack.

“I’ve err, had better weeks sir,” Jim replies nervously.

“You and Chris both I’ll wager. He’s been sending me gloomy messages pretty much nonstop since last Saturday night. You really gave him a fright with the state you were in when he and Phil got to Medical.”

“I don’t really remember of that night other than classic Muse was playing at some point and I think I was demanding hugs from Bo- form one of the doctors,” Jim shrugs, moving to lean on the larder cupboard door. He adjusts his glasses again and swallows back a yawn, doing his best to remain presentable despite the fact he’s bone-tired and in his sweats and yet another one of Pike’s old but comfortable tees. And feeling increasingly like death warmed up again on top of that.

“I presume you were going to say Bones,” the Admiral smirks. “Top tip kid; I know everyone in and everything that happens to the ‘Fleet. The whole organisation is my baby, so I make it my business to know. So don’t bother with talking round a subject. if you mean Bones, say Bones; I’ll know who you mean.”

And oh. Jim has just realised with no little horror who this Admiral actually is. 

Ex-Federation President and famous Captain of the legendary original Enterprise starship. 

And he’s stood talking to him _in his pyjamas._

“Yes sir, I was” he croaks. “Going to say that I mean. Going to say Bones. Leonard McCoy. Doctor McCoy. I err-”

“You call him Bones, so you can use that name with me,” Admiral Archer soothes, apparently having noticed Jim’s sudden fluster. “Come on Boyce my lad, let’s go back to the living room and see how that Uncle of your is getting on with fixing my adoptee up. And maybe see if we can convince you to lie down too before you keel over yourself.”

Before Jim can pulls what remains of his wits back together, Archer is steering him out of the kitchen with a gentle hand on his lower back.

* * *

Jim wakes with a thick blanket tucked under his chin and a cushion under his head that he suspects is an actual pillow from upstairs. 

There’s some very faint snoring coming from somewhere nearby. 

He forces his sleep-gummy eyes open and finds that he’s facing the back of a couch. The couch. That couch. The one he’s been sleeping on several times a day recently. The couch in Phil and Pike’s house.

Eventually his higher brain functions switch back on enough that he manages to roll over and pinpoint the source of the snoring.

Pike is fast asleep face down on the other sofa, his head also supported by a pillow that is most definitely from upstairs. He’s been changed out of the bloodied clothing he was carried in wearing, if the bare shoulders and flannel clad leg sticking out from his blankets are anything to go by. 

And Phil is also sat on the floor by his head, Pike’s arm and hand draped over his shoulder as he leans back against the base of the couch. He’s got a Padd resting against his knees, a still steaming mug of what Jim suspects is fruity tea by his left foot.

Jim stretches and yawns.

“Hey kiddo,” Phil smiles as he looks up from his lap. “You feeling better now? You were pretty out of it when Jon bundled you back onto that couch.”

“Mmm, yeah I am,” he yawns again, sitting up and shoving the back of his hand over his mouth. “Where’d my glasses go?”

“Coffee table. Here I’ll grab them for you.”

Slipping them back on once he’s taken them from Phil, he blinks a couple of times as the room comes back into focus and Phil’s blurry edges sharpen into clarity. 

“Pike okay?” he asks with glance above Phil.

“Okay first of all Jimmy, you are allowed to call him Chris. Especially with how clingy he’s been with you this week. He only goes full on inappropriate creepy stalker mode with people he’s decided to keep permanently, so you’ve definitely entered his first name circle. Secondly, he’s fine aside from his bruised ego and the headache I’m going to give him by yelling at him when he wakes up.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” Jim mumbles as he pulls his blanket back up round his shoulders. “Did he just stroll up to a bunch of men and insult them or something? Admiral Archer said he was accusing them of something I think. It wasn’t to do with me was it? I just- have this feeling that it was.”

Phil looks at him… not pitying, and not sympathetically either. Sort of… resigned but not upset by it.

“He’s been working with Jonny to try and work out who drugged you.”

“Oh,” Jim says quietly, ducking his head. “He- they didn’t have to, it-”

“No Jimmy, Chris and I care about you so of course we had to find out how it happened. And not least because we needed to make sure the culprit didn’t target someone else.”

“So… so earlier when he scowled at his Padd and went out. That was him identifying the uh? Culprit? And going to confront them?”

Phil looks up at the ceiling briefly and sighs. Its not an eyeroll, but rather an indication of unwillingness. Or so Jim believes. 

“Well, I’m not actually happy talking about this because I try not to dwell on the horrible things humanity can be capable of. But.”

He pauses.

Jim waits.

“It was an organised group,” the doctor continues slowly, disgust dripping from every word. “I don’t know how these despicable people found each other or set the group up, but it was a twisted society for adult human males that enjoy targeting and raping vulnerable people.”

Jim blanches and swallows thickly. Phil grimaces. 

“They- they meet-”

Phil cuts himself off and shudders before drawing a deep breath and forcing the words out.

“They meet twice a week. Once to swap tips and tricks and to share roofies and drugs with each other, and once on a weekend evening to prey upon whoever takes their fancy. I don’t know how Johnny worked out what they were doing, but he told Chris it was a lot more serious than they’d thought it would be. That he knew where they were, and he would deal with them. They thought it was just going to be one sick-minded asshole, and it turned out to be a whole group of them.”

“But Pi- but Chris went after them anyway and they ganged up on him.”

“Yeah they did kid. Thank god Jonny caught up to him before they hurt him worse. And thank god that Jonny had the good sense to grab Spock and bring him as back up.”

Silence.

“I’m glad I got away and got to Medical before they could do anything to me,” Jim says softly, eyes on the floor having decided to forgo his usual façade of brazen bravado in this instance. “I promised myself after- When I got back to Earth, I promised myself I’d never let anyone do that to me again.”

“And while Phil and I are alive and breathing, we’ll do everything in our power to let you keep that promise to yourself son,” Chris suddenly grunts from the couch, less asleep than he still looks.

Jim smiles shyly at him, hating the way his cheeks heat up.

But, he reflects, that’s the first time someone’s ever said that to him and he’s been able to believe they’re actually sincere. The first time its been said to him and he’s believed that they actually will do it.

And, he also realises, this house is quickly becoming the first place he’s ever felt 100% truly safe in. 

Jim’s never had that before.

He’s more and more glad he joined the ‘Fleet every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an inelegant attempt to cheer you up after that angst: [The Cute Animal Appreciation Society](https://discord.gg/v8RCdSh) on [Discord](https://discordapp.com/)
> 
> Or you know, come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://insane-sociopath.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Oh yeah, I should also reassure you that Archer is currently making that group of dudes suffer.

**Author's Note:**

> Come bug me on [Tumblr](http://insane-sociopath.tumblr.com/), I'm there most days
> 
> My Trek [Masterlist](http://insane-sociopath.tumblr.com/post/170915653968/a-complete-list-of-my-trek-fics-all-are-t-rated) (for a full list of all my work)


End file.
